


Cold Hands, Slight Heartbeat

by soupmetaphors



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Blood, Exorcist/ Ghost AU, F/M, Gen, Gore, M/M, Violence, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupmetaphors/pseuds/soupmetaphors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy Unwin’s life was saved by the spirit of one Harry Hart during an exorcism gone wrong with his father, years ago. Now, with his own track record of banishing, he finds himself trying to stop Richmond Valentine from unleashing the demon Gazelle on the little neighborhood he’s been called to. With the help of Roxy and Percival Morton, James Spencer, tech genius 'Merlin’, and two loyal pups, Eggsy is racing against time to destroy Gazelle and save a tiny portion of the universe. But keeping his friends safe, even with Harry playing for their team, is going to prove to be much more difficult. [ Written for the Kingsman Big Bang 2K15 ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Past

“You know that what I do is dangerous, don’t you?” his father says, and the boy nods, solemnly. Of course it’s dangerous: It involves things that go bump in the night and powers that he’s slowly learning to keep at bay.

He’s only six years old, yet Eggsy Unwin knows that whatever his father says concerning these matters should be understood and taken to heart. 

So when Lee Unwin pats his shoulder and tells him to stay in the car like a good boy, he does, dutifully locking the doors. Usually, his mother would have a fit, his father taking him on an exorcism, but she’s out with her friends and his father hates spoiling his mother’s day.  


Eggsy settles back in his seat, turning the radio up to block out the silence that seeps into the vehicle. The street outside is long and empty, the lights in the houses mostly off: Lee prefers to deal with matters during the witching hour, to make sure that every last spark of malevolence is gone.  


The boy watches his father disappear into the house directly across the street, a dark brown monster with dim lights illuminating the front windows, door opened by an elderly woman in a cardigan. He’s been with his father on three separate occasions, and this is his fourth. It should be like any other, he reckons: A four hour wait in the car, listening to the radio, until his father turns up with tired eyes and ripped clothes, before driving him home.  


The boy leans back, shifting in his seat. Upon finding the perfect position, Eggsy settles, eyes closing. It isn’t long until he falls asleep, lulled by the soothing undertones of a pop song he can’t quite catch the lyrics of.  


He doesn’t know what time it is, when he wakes up, doesn’t know how much time has passed. He’s still in the empty vehicle, and it is still dark. Maybe this particular case is taking much longer. His father once said that the more malevolent the presence, the longer he’d take in the house.  


Eggsy’s about to slump and go back to sleep when the front windows of that house shatter. Glass shards fly in every direction, and he stifles a yelp as one of it strikes the window of the driver’s side, leaving a mark.  


The boy stares at the house from the safety of the car. The lights have gone out, and he can’t see beyond the dark holes that the windows have become, like mouths with jagged teeth. He knows he shouldn’t get down, but his father is in there. His father might be in trouble because Eggsy sure as hell hasn’t seen such thing happen during an exorcism.  


He can’t sit here and wait for his father to come back. If his father ever comes back.  


Unlocks the doors of the car and takes a deep breath. His mother will never forgive him, but he needs to save his father- or at least make sure that he’s okay.  


Opening the door, Eggsy steps out and into the street, closing the car door as silently as he can manage. Moves slowly, despite the rapidly increasing beat of his heart, around the front of the car to the driver’s side. Glass crunches under his feet, and with each sound, the boy winces. He’s sure that if he makes too much noise, something will definitely come flying out of the house and eat his face. Or his soul, whichever seems the worst.  


Sweat’s already dripping down the side of his face, and he wipes it away as he creeps towards the house. He’ll be home soon, he reminds himself, halfway across the street. Home and safe and laughing with his father about this little scare.  


And then a body flies out of window.  


It arches through the air and lands on the pavement in front of the house with a loud, wet smack, and Eggsy claps his hands over his mouth and screams. Blood seeps into the cracks, dripping onto the tar road. He recognizes the body: It’s the old woman who opened the door for his father.  


Her neck has been snapped and blood leaks from her eyes, crusted around her nostrils. Her expression is frozen in a rictus of utmost horror, and her hands are curled into claws. Sightless eyes stare at Eggsy and he stares right back, horrified. No child this young should ever see something like this.  


Tearing his gaze from the corpse, the boy wills himself to continue towards the front door, ignoring the windows. His hands are bunched into fists so tightly that he can feel his nails digging into his skin. Somehow, he manages to walk all the way up the tiny little path to the front door without fleeing in fear. Eggsy reaches for the doorknob, and almost jerks his hand back when he finds it ice cold, yet turns the knob and pushes the door.  


It doesn’t make a sound. That’s the worst part of it all. At least a creak would make him feel a little better, but the door merely opens soundlessly, exposing the darkness inside. The moonlight illuminates the first dozen meters of wooden flooring, much to his relief. He steps inside, thankful for the smallest of mercies.  


That’s taken back rather abruptly as the temperature in the room plummets, sending shivers up his spine, goosebumps rippling along his skin. The house feels very dark, as if a cloud of pure evil is hanging over it, ready to devour those still used to the light. There’s something wrong in here, and Eggsy knows it.  


Doesn’t call for his father: That will probably attract the wrong kind of attention. Instead, he ventures deeper into the house, eyes wide, ready to bolt if his life is in absolute danger. Turning left into the living room, Eggsy finds the carpet littered with both glass and massive red splotches that –as he bends down to touch- are sticky and staining.  


Wiping it on his jacket, he checks behind the sofa and the armchair, to no avail. He backs out slowly, deciding to head to the kitchen. If it’s not the kitchen, his father has to be upstairs, and that’s the last place that the boy wants to look. He just hopes that this house doesn’t have a bloody attic.  


The kitchen is a mess, but at least there’s no trace of blood. Knives and forks are embedded in the wall, as if flung there with extreme force, and there are smashed plates all over the floor. Eggsy lets out a whispered call for his father, but an answer never reaches his ears.  


He doesn’t want to linger too long, so he leaves the kitchen and goes back out into the hall, where the open door welcomes him with the promise of the safety of the outside world. The stairs lies directly in front, and he decides that it’s now or never.  


“Da?” he calls, plaintively. “Da, it’s time to go.”  


“I’m coming! Stay down there.”  


Good Lord, he’s never heard a sweeter sound than the voice of his own father. Exhaling in relief, the boy waits as footsteps come from upstairs, the darkened corridor where he cannot see.  


Sounds: The thud of something heavy on the floor, the rustle of fabric so loud in the house. It’s a miracle the neighbors haven’t called the police over, but then again, it’s late. No one in their right mind will bother to leave their beds for something as trivial as a broken window or something.  


His father comes down the stairs carrying a body. It’s of a well-dressed man in his early-thirties, head angled to face his father’s chest. This is because, Eggsy realizes with a shudder, his neck has been twisted, and even the corpse’s shoulders look dislocated.  


“I-is the spirit gone?” the boy asks. “Can we go home now?”  


If something is as wrong as he senses, his father will probably sense it too. But Lee Unwin just smiles gently at his son.  


“We can’t go home yet, Eggsy,” is the reply, his father shaking his head almost solemnly.  


“Is it ‘cause of the mess? I- I mean, we could call Father Chester an’ he’d sort things out, he always sorts things out!”  


A gust of wind blows through the house, slamming the door shut, and Eggsy flinches, hard. He should have just stayed in the car, he thinks, as he turns to get the door, to let the blessed light back into this place of darkness. Stayed in the car like a good boy, a boy who will not get possessed or whatever.  


His fingers have just curled around the doorknob when his father begins to laugh. It’s not Lee’s normal laugh, not that warm laugh that makes one think of cozy firesides and strawberries with whipped cream. It’s the laughter of a madman, all howl and shiver.  


Turns so fast he hears his neck crick, just in time to see his father drop the body like a ton of bricks, arms outstretched, head tilted back ever just a few inches. Lee’s eyes are rolled back into his sockets, and the gentle smile has been replaced with something feral, something wild, something clearly not of this world.  


“There’s no leaving, I’m afraid,” says the entity inhabiting his father’s body, voice deep and soul-shaking.  


Logic dictates that he should run out the door and, somehow, get help. Eggsy’s body, on the other hand, decides that the best course of action is to stand there, petrified and staring. Trembling, trying so desperately to be brave, he can only plead with himself to move as the thing that is not his father walks calmly towards him.  


“I haven’t played around with a child for decades.”  


It’s with that line that his motor functions come slamming back into him. Feet stumble and trip as he makes a break for the living room, trusting his instinct that the front door may be held shut by the paranormal powers he’s facing.  


The spirit doesn’t quicken its pace, laughing that horrendous laugh. Eggsy doesn’t have time to focus on that, heading for the window in the living room, the very one that the old woman flew out of. Glass shards shatter underneath his feet, cold sweat dripping down the side of his face. Can’t stop, not when he’s inches from freedom, from being relieved of this nightmare.  


The window has jagged glass still stuck it to, but he grabs the ledge with both hands anyways, yelping as they slice into his palms. This is not selfishness, he knows. His father is dead and there’s no way he can get the body without proper training. Lee would definitely understand.  


“Sorry, Da,” whispered through gritted teeth as he hoists himself up, ignoring the pain and the blood and the-  


Laughter. A chilling realization that there is only silence throughout the house makes him hesitate, glance over his shoulder for one damning second. He can’t see his father at all, nor hear any footsteps.  


Letting go of the glass, he turns, gaze scanning the seemingly empty living room. It’s foolish, he knows: The combination of fear and the blood flowing freely from his hands turning him loopy. But he simply cannot help himself.  


And then warm liquid drips onto his head. Immediately, he tenses up, as the drop slides down the side of his face, dripping off the end of his chin. It’s blood, he sees, catching it in the palm of his hand.  


The only problem is that it isn’t his.  


Head snaps up, a scream finally let loose from his lungs: His father is directly above him, stuck to the ceiling on his back like an escaped balloon.  


“Peek-a-boo!”  


The entity dives at him, crashing into him and pinning him down onto the floor before he can so much as move a muscle. Searing hot breath inches away from his face as Eggsy stares up at his father’s face, whimpering quietly.  


Saliva mixed with blood drips down from that open mouth onto the boy’s face. “There was no satisfaction, you know. Your father put up a hell of a fight, but I snuffed his soul out in the end. But I’m going to tear you from limb to limb, my boy.”  


“…rather die…” Eggsy manages to squeak, trying so hard not to make eye contact with the creature.  


“Oh, that’ll be a wish I’ll never grant.”  


The creature wearing his father’s face slithers off him, and he finds himself being hauled to his feet by invisible strings, unable to even twitch his toes. Eggsy is hovering in midair as the spirit looks up at him, proudly.  


“I think I’ll start with the right leg.”  


The creature gently trails a finger over the fabric of Eggsy’s pants, then stops, before tightening its hold into a vice-like grip. There’s a horrid cracking noise, like the cracking of knuckles, only twice as loud: Lee’s mouth is growing wider, jaw breaking as it unhinges, until the boy can see all his father’s teeth.  


There’s honestly no breath left in him to scream.  


But then he sees the other body, the well-dressed man, still visible in the hall. It’s moving. Standing, slowly, without so much as a sound. The man’s head is bent at a horrid angle, but somehow, it’s shuffling towards the living room. Towards where Eggsy and the spirit are.  


Eggsy’s gaze flicks back to the spirit, who is practically dripping saliva onto his pants, humming as it chooses which portion of his leg to east first. The boy just hopes that this new spirit isn’t planning on joining the feast.  


The dead man is so close now, it’s a wonder the other supernatural being doesn’t sense him and attack. Dead eyes meet Eggsy’s, turning slightly so as to angle his head and catch a glimpse.  


The boy blinks, wide-eyed, and the man with the crooked neck smiles, before grabbing the demon with his father’s body and throwing him hard against the wall.  


Everything happens too bloody fast for Eggsy to register: One minute, he’s floating in the air, the next he’s on the ground, as two ghouls battle it out only mere feet away.  


Wasting no time, the boy scrambles to his feet, hoisting himself over the window ledge as per his previous, interrupted plan. He’s bleeding, every inch of his body aches, yet he finds the strength to land on the sidewalk without falling flat on his face.  


Screeches and roars ring in his ears as he bolts for the car. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get home, but calling an adult seems like the most rational thing to do at the moment.  


Opens the door to the passenger side, fingers trembling with adrenaline. Breath expelled in harsh scrapes, being sucked in with an almost-whine. Just before he climbs in the car, he realizes how quiet it is, all of a sudden.  


Peeks around the car at the house just in time to see the front door open, carefully. The man with the crooked neck stands there for a moment, then topples backward, leaving another man in his place.  


It’s a spirit, Eggsy knows, instinctively, as it walks calmly towards him, feet somehow not sinking into the floor.  


He doesn’t run, amazingly. It’s assumed that if this spirit saved him from the other, there must be no threat posed to him.  


“My condolences about your father.”  


Brown eyes behind black-rimmed glasses look right at Eggsy, and the voice is warm and accented, just like those posh folk.  


“You’re a spirit.” It’s a statement, not a fact, and he’s surprised at how his voice hasn’t broken into a million pieces yet.  


“I prefer ghost, actually,” the dead fellow corrects. “I died about twenty years ago.”  


“Oh.” A brief sting lets Eggsy remember that his hands are bleeding. “W-what happened?”  


The ghost smiles, taps his temple. The boy can see a dark hole, gunpowder marking the circles around the edges, and turns away, clambering into the passenger seat of the car. He moves slowly, searching for his father’s emergency phone in the gearbox: Just in case, his father had told him once. Just in case.  


“W-why were you in the house?” Eggsy asks, sifting through bottles of holy water, herbs, and other things usually equipped for an exorcism.  


“It’s a bit silly, I suppose, but I’ve always had the affinity for haunting well-dressed men. I just was about to move in, when this horrid spirit came and made a colossal mess out of everything.”  


“Why?”  


“They built this land on a graveyard. Amazingly idiotic, is it not?”  


Eggsy mutters that he supposes so. A few more minutes pass, in which he can feel the ghost standing right outside the car, before he finds the phone, leaning back in the seat with a sigh of relief.  


The battery is half-full, but it should last him until someone comes to get him from this hellhole of a neighborhood. Dials up Father Chester’s number, presses the phone to his ear.  


Charlie Hesketh picks up. Of course it has to be the priest’s nephew. Eggsy pretends not to listen to his incessant babbling until the phone is snatched away by the priest himself. The situation is explained, in the best way a six-year old can, but the ghost isn’t mentioned. He thinks it’s best that he keeps it to himself.  


“We’ll be there immediately,” is Father Chester’s parting words, right before the line is cut and the static causes Eggsy to put the phone away.  


“Sorry,” the ghost says. “Energy interference.”  


“It’s… It’s okay.” He looks at the other, deciding what to say next. It is a highly unusual situation, after all.  


It takes twenty minutes for Father Chester to get to the scene of the occurrence: Headlights light up the end of the street, the distant sound of a car engine. Rising from his seat, Eggsy looks at the ghost, who has been watching over him, apparently.  


“M’name’s Eggsy. Well, Gary, but no one calls me that.”  


The headlights are getting closer.  


“It’s a pleasure to have met you, Eggsy. And, before I leave, I may as well tell you my name.”  


The light from the car shines directly into Eggsy’s eyes, blinding him momentarily. He almost misses the ghost’s words, struggling to catch them over the sound of the car.  


“Harry Hart? What kind of posh name is th-“  


Words die on his lips when Father Chester gets out of the car, as Eggsy turns to look for the ghost and realizes that he’s alone.


	2. Present

“He’s at it again.”

Roxy Morton leaned against the doorframe and frowned over Eggsy’s shoulder, at the house directly across the street. It wasn’t a particularly menacing house, as far as he was concerned: Flower-printed curtains and only a single patch of weeds on the lawn. But he’d been in this neighborhood too bloody many times to underestimate what the owner could do.

That was how he’d met the Morton siblings, a couple of years back, through Richmond Valentine’s crazy schemes. They were the ones who first noticed the strange going-ons in Valentine’s house, and from there, it only got worse. (Every few months, Eggsy had to come up to the neighborhood for a brief yet exhausting banishment, a lecture for Valentine himself, and then a stiff drink with Roxy and her brother.)

“What d’you think it is this time?” Eggsy joked, glancing in the direction of Roxy’s furious stare. “I bet it’s a bloody demon or the Devil ‘imself.”

“Whatever the hell it is, I rather you do something before it’s too late.”

“I’ll just pop over and sort him out real good.”

She was about to say something, a smile already on her lips, when a yell from the inside followed by a burst of laughter caught them both by surprise. 

“What are those idiots up to?” Roxy said, shaking her head, as Eggsy moved past her into the house, quickly. 

The exorcist was in the lead, passing the numerous family photos hung on the walls, up the stairs, two at a time. From the upper floors floated down more laughter and frantic barking, which made Eggsy grin. 

Missing the first floor completely, his steps became more careful as the stairs became narrower and not as sturdy from disuse. Eggsy burst into the attic, nearly tripping over the huge trunk lying in the way, lid flipped open. 

It was quite the scene, really, as he stood there and watched, amusedly: Two grown men tussling with one tiny pug over a suit. There were clothes placed in neat piles on various trunks, and a bigger, docile-looking dog sitting in the corner, clearly not interested in the proceedings.

“Call your dog off, Unwin,” the shorter of the duo said, pulling on the cloth as hard as he could. 

“Oh, leave JB alone, Percy,” someone else said, before Eggsy himself could intervene.

Roxy stepped into the cramped room and perched herself on one of the trunks. The other dog dutifully got up and wandered over, before depositing itself at its owner’s feet.

“But these are our grandfather’s suits!”

“Honestly, I don’t think he would care. He’s been dead quite some time.”

“Father’s going to kill us.”

“Father disowned us, Percy. Do I need to remind you of everything?”

The taller of the two men nodded at Eggsy. “What a pair these two make, don’t they?”

Eggsy snorted, and called out for JB to stop destroying what clearly wasn’t his. The pug gave the suit a final, vicious shake before letting go. James Spencer and Alistair Percival fell with the sudden loss of pulling force from JB’s end, a cloud of dust rising up from the dusty floorboards.

“You’re the worst boyfriend,” Percival (for Alistair was his father’s name, tacked on his like a trophy) grumbled, struggling to untangle himself from James. “You could have just picked the dog up.”

“I like to watch you suffer, you know that.” 

The exorcist called JB to him, bending down to scratch the pug between its ears, before announcing that he was going to give Valentine a stern-talking to. Or as stern as the talking to could get, judging by past experiences. 

The others murmured in acknowledgement, Percival and James trying to smooth out the suit that JB had been biting. The pug, seemingly content with its handiwork, followed Eggsy as he left the attic, going all the way back down and out of the front door. 

He walked across the street without looking left or right: In the afternoon, there was barely a soul about in this neighborhood. At least he wasn’t a bona fide priest or something, Eggsy reckoned, as he reached the other side and began his walk up to the front door. Then he’d have to get robes and let them drag all over the bloody ground. For him, dark and formal clothes did suffice. 

Eggsy knew there was the doorbell for a good reason, he just chose to conveniently ignore it. He rapped on the front door as hard as he could, hopefully hard enough to let Valentine hear over whatever was constantly flooding that damnable mind of his. 

And it was a miracle that, a few minutes later, the door opened.

“I was wondering when you’d show up, barging in and ruining everything like you always do,” Richmond Valentine said, lisp audible as always. “It’s like a man can’t go two days without the holy cops banging on his front door.”

“I ain’t no holy cop, bruv, and we both know that.”

They’d been playing this game for a couple of years now. Amazing, how the routine got old too fast for comfort. 

“Well, come on in, man.” Valentine stood aside, and Eggsy entered, JB dutifully tailing him. 

The interior of the house was pretty much as Eggsy remembered it: Books on the supernatural in neat little stacks, assortment of crystals, the odd Ouija board. If it had something to do with contacting the other side, Valentine had it. 

(Sometimes Eggsy wondered how the hell a computer programmer’s salary paid for that, before remembering that Valentine was somewhat of a tech genius, although his living quarters told a completely different story.)

“I got a new brand of cookies today. Been waiting for some lucky fella to share it with me. Your little dog can get some too, no problem,” Valentine said, gesturing in the vague direction of the kitchen. “I guess we could discuss business over milk and some bomb-ass cookies.”

“Sure.” Eggsy supposed it wouldn’t do any harm. As long as the sun was still in the sky and the birds chirping, whatever ghouls that would no doubt want to eat him would have less (and perhaps no) power. “Just no funny business, alright, mate?”

“Scout’s honor.” 

The milk was good, Eggsy had to admit. He sat there at the kitchen table, feeding JB half of his cookie under the table. Valentine sat directly opposite him, and the entire jar of cookies was placed right in the middle, although not obscuring the view of each other’s faces. 

“So what did you summon this time?” 

Straight to the point, efficient as it was. The exorcist didn’t pause from eating the cookie, occasionally taking a sip of milk.

The other man grinned. “I didn’t summon anything, officer.”

“Well, your neighbors think you made a deal with the Devil ‘imself. That certainly says somethin’,” Eggsy pointed out.

“What would they know? They’re living off money which isn’t theirs anymore and it’s running out slowly.”

He looked at Valentine and tried not to show any sign of surprise, which was rather difficult, considering that only James and Eggsy himself knew about the Morton siblings’ situation nor the financial gravity of their family’s situation. 

“How?” 

“I work with computers. Connect the dots.” Valentine took another cookie out of the jar, but Eggsy didn’t move. 

He’d talk to the siblings later. For now, it was about Valentine and banishing whatever he was about to summon, or already had summoned. 

“Look,” Eggsy shook his head, putting the topic aside. “’m just here to tell you to knock it off. I broke three Ouija boards and every last mirror in your house, I’m doing it again less you stop.”

“But I haven’t even done anything. Can’t blame me for something like that.”

That was true, as much as the exorcist loathed admitting. Finishing off his milk, he pushed back the chair and stood. “Just let me take a quick look around, to be sure, is all.”

“Don’t break my stuff,” Valentine called after him, as he and JB left the kitchen.

Now that Eggsy couldn't guarantee. 

He started the search systematically, from the front door. Technically, he knew every nook and cranny of Valentine’s house, from various searches over the years. He’d notice if there was something new. But, still, it was better to be one-hundred percent sure. 

Eggsy checked the living room, the bedroom, the rooms that had been converted into Valentine’s ‘workshop’ where he coded things, rooms where you could move without kicking a book or some strange artifact, that one room with the goddamn dolls which scared the bejesus out of Eggsy. Nothing appeared to be active. Even JB didn’t seem to sense any otherworldly presence among them. 

So, rather dissatisfied, he went downstairs. Valentine was already waiting for him in the hall, cookie jar tucked under his arm, still eating.

“No drugs found?”

“I’m watchin’ you, bruv. I hear one bloody wail, I’ll be on you like a shitton of bricks. Got it?”

“Sure thing, officer.”

Again with that nickname, and Eggsy frowned at him as he was let out the front door. 

“Have a good day,” Valentine called cheerily, right before he heard the door shut. 

Eggsy looked down at JB, who was waiting patiently at his feet. “That bloke’s up to something, I know it.”

But since there was absolutely nothing to prove, despite the books and the artifacts that were always there anyways, he decided to let it rest for a while. 

“Come on, JB.”

He guess he’d just spend the night at the Morton residence. After all, it would be safer if something went bump in the night. Which it, obviously and usually, would.


	3. Intermission I

Valentine gave it a few minutes before the exorcist kid was back in the house directly across the street from his. Seriously, he hadn’t done anything, hadn’t summoned a spirit from the grave, nothing. He was just trying to chill and enjoy some cookies. 

Or, at least, this very moment.

Moving towards the window in the living room, he shifted aside the flower-patterned curtains and was satisfied to see the young man and his pug disappear into the house, the front door closing behind him. 

Letting go, the man stepped back, and exhaled. Too easy. In all the clutter, Eggsy would never notice something quite out of place, especially not with all the books all over the floor. Valentine turned away from the window before shifting some of the stacks of books with his foot.

That was the problem about this supernatural thing, wasn’t it? You couldn’t get certain books online. Many a day Valentine had spent driving out to the middle of nowhere just to dig up some dusty, rotting tome.

And now it was paying off.

Red lines appeared when he moved the books, seemed to form a symbol of some sort. It was clearly painted on: He couldn’t stomach blood and labeled violence as something that he’d never resort to. (Yet. He hadn’t resorted yet.)

Looking down at the summoning circle, Valentine took another cookie from the jar and ate it, contemplatively. Come midnight, phase one of his plan would be complete. 

“It’s a good damn day to change the world.”


	4. Chapter 4

Eggsy had told them everything. He was their friend. If word got out, that would spell disaster for the siblings. They took it remarkably well, if he was to be honest. Roxy was already applying for an internship, Percival trying to keep his sexuality from ruining the only job he had. But with a surname that was connected to aristocracy and because of their disownment, it was extremely difficult.

“Let him know,” they announced, as if they couldn’t care less. Right now, the problem was with what Valentine was going to do. They would sort out that mess once this mess was over. 

Technically, they couldn’t do anything until the spirit had manifested. So the four of them, including James, had done their best to spirit-proof the house like all the other times: Crosses above doorways, holy water where they could easily grab it. There weren’t any crucifixes to wear, besides the one that Eggsy always had on him, so everyone went to bed with a cross beneath their pillow and a flashlight.

For some reason, the general aura in the air was that something horrid was about to come crashing down on their heads. 

But that’s normal, hey? 

Eggsy shook his head, entering the guest bedroom he’d been assigned to, ready to catch as much sleep as he could. By tomorrow morning, the crisis would –hopefully- be averted and it would be back to much more docile cases. Hell, he’d even be on time to take his step-sister to kindergarten and leave some free time for his mother. 

In the dark, he made his way to the bed and tried to let his body relax. It was evident, after a good half an hour of tossing and turning, that it wouldn’t work. His mind was full of possible creatures that Valentine could call up, and ways to combat each and every one. But the risks were incredibly high, and he hoped, he prayed that it would be nothing but a simple ghoul.

(Valentine loved flamboyancy, unfortunately.)

He got up, unable to stand the information jamming his brain any longer, and left the room, careful not to step on JB’s sleeping form as he did. Quietly, Eggsy made his way downstairs and out onto the front yard, before deciding to move to the side, where a neatly trimmed hedge separated the Morton house from the neighbor’s. 

There were no lights in Valentine’s windows, he noted, as he made to sit and keep watch. That was both good and bad: Who knew what the fellow was up to. 

And that was when someone happily interrupted him. 

“Nice pajamas, lad.” 

Eggsy straightened, looked across the hedge. The owner of the voice – a bald man in a thick sweater and thicker glasses- looked back at him. Oh.

“Cold never got to me much,” the exorcist said, shrugging with one shoulder. “You’re Merlin, innit?” 

That was the name he’d introduced himself as to Roxy and Percival, when they’d first moved in. In turn, they had told Eggsy the little about him gathered: Styled after the wizard, he apparently worked for the government, and a hush-hush branch at that. 

“The one and only. And you’re the exorcist,” Merlin replied. He adjusted his glasses and smiled at Eggsy, who raised an eyebrow in question.

“I don’t miss what goes on in this street, unlike everyone else,” he added, as if that explained everything in the world. Maybe, to him, it did. 

“That’s good to know.” A pause, a glance at Valentine’s house: Still no sign of life. “I suggest you bring out your crosses tonight. It’s going to be a rough one.”

Merlin wasn’t perturbed by the cryptic message. Instead, he nodded, and turned away from the hedge. “Noted. And best you get back to bed, if what you say is true.”

He walked away from his side of the hedge, and Eggsy tore his gaze away from the retreating figure. A chill ran down his back, as he turned, and he paused: He’d learned to trust raw gut feeling after all these years. 

Gaze flicked to the side of the house, making sure the shadows were just shadows, trailing up the wall to the windows. And then he froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing. There was a man standing at the window of the attic. There was a man standing there, with dark rimmed glasses and a smile on his face, so substantial and yet so not. 

Motor controls suddenly snapping back into action, Eggsy ran. Back into the house, up the stairs, not caring about the way his footsteps echoed through the silent house. He had to get up to the attic. 

If he’d taken things a little slower, he probably would have seen light flare up behind those flowered curtains of the house across the street, candlelight casting strange shadows.

Yet the exorcist had been too preoccupied, and now was taking the stairs up to the attic two at a time. Wrenching the door open, he half-expected no one to be there, to be greeted with just the attic and its dusty contents. 

He didn’t expect the ghost who had saved him from certain death a practical lifetime ago to be turning away from the window and facing him with a smile. 

“Hello, Eggsy.”

Harry Hart hadn’t changed. This was because, firstly, he was a ghost, and, secondly, the memory of that traumatizing day happened to be permanently part of Eggsy’s long-term memory. 

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” was Eggsy’s immediate response, delight, outrage, a touch a fear, all flickering across his face within seconds. 

“I’m, ah, haunting this house, given the correct term. Or I was drawn to it.” 

“By what?”

Distantly, he could hear footsteps, the frantic barking of dogs: He’d woken the others with the ruckus he’d made. That didn’t matter, no, he’d told them what had occurred that faithful day. He just never thought he’d see the ghost again. 

Harry tapped one of the trunks, and Eggsy saw that the suits that were the center of attention in the day were draped over it. I have an affinity for haunting well-dressed men, that’s what he said, wasn’t it? 

The barking and footsteps were getting louder with each second, the attic unbearably cold even for Eggsy, even despite the light that was swinging from the rafters. He stood there in his pajamas and looked at the ghost that had saved his life. The ghost, to his credit, looked back. 

“Astonishing, how paths cross and uncross,” Harry said, a smile lighting the edges of his face. 

“It might be chanc-“

“Eggsy! Are you okay?” Roxy was the first to practically tumble into the room. “We heard running, and, oh!” 

Eyes widened as she looked at Harry, then from Harry to Eggsy, mentally connecting the dots. Percival followed soon after with James at his heels, before Madam (Roxy’s dog) and JB shoved their way in and began barking up a storm.

None of the living (or the one dead) spoke. Eggsy could see them recall the story he’d told them, when the four of them had officially shifted to friends. He could see them remember and try not to shudder.

“Since you aren’t screaming,” the ghost cut in. “I assume you know of me and what happened.”

The introductions were brief, to the point. They knew of Harry and now Harry knew them. Simple. The dogs, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop barking until their respective owners hushed them. 

“How come the crosses don’t affect you?” James asked.

“Why should they? I’m not a demon. I simply haven’t crossed over.”

“Why not?” the man persisted, and Harry cast a thoughtful look around the room.

“I like it here, this life. I never asked to die. Call it a sense of unfulfilment."

Eggsy was about to cut in, about to point out that either way, Harry couldn’t haunt the Morton house forever. It was quite rude to intrude on a friend of a friend’s house, and stay there just because of a suit. 

He opened his mouth, but Percival, who had circled Harry, as if looking at a strange new specimen, paused at the attic window. 

“Valentine loves his candles, doesn’t he?” he remarked, craning his neck to get a better look. “Or, perhaps, a romantic eveni-“

That was when the light exploded. Glass showered them, the dogs restarted their barking, and they stifled gasps as they were thrust back into the darkness. 

“Did Valentine do anything?” Eggsy demanded, as he moved to where Percival was, narrowly missing passing through Harry. “Damn that bastard.”

“You simply must fill me in on the gaps, Roxy,” he heard Harry say, as he tried to get a better look at the house across the street. “This is rather exciting business.” 

Candlelight behind the curtains, although now they looked as if someone had spilt something on them, staining the flower patterns. The entire street looked dark, as if someone had cut the power. But the houses were so rarely populated that it would be a miracle if someone actually took notice and came out to check. 

Turning back to his friends, the exorcist took a deep breath. “I’m going to check on Valentine.”

This obviously earned some protests from those gathered, so it was quickly decided that James would have Eggsy’s back while Roxy and Percival held fort. The exorcist was halfway out the door with JB and James when Harry spoke.

“I’m willing to offer my assistant, should you wish.”

Eggsy glanced over his shoulder at the ghost, eyes lighting briefly on that bullet hole. I trust you. If he could save a child’s life, the ghost could be trusted to defend his friends. “Keep ‘em safe.”

He didn’t look back to see if Harry acknowledged the orders. 


	5. Intermission II

Valentine threw up for the third time, eyes squeezed shut, practically touching the toilet bowl with his forehead. The final part of the ritual, as expected, had not been pleasant. Blood sacrifice, he thought, wryly, holding out his left hand as far from his body as he could. These goddamn demons and their blood.

He’d done in, miraculously. Closed his eyes, drew the knife over his palm, and had just managed to complete the incantation (a trouble with his lisp), before rushing off to the bathroom. 

It was well worth it, though. 

“If you can’t stand the blood, how are you to watch when I help you change the world?” 

The voice, gentle with a touch of iron and flames, was right in his ear, yet cold fingers were already ghosting over his injured hand, wiping away the blood with what seemed to be a wet cloth. 

“I don’t even know your name,” he said, wiping his mouth with his free hand.

A knock on the door, a scream of his name. Aw, shit. Not that fucker again.

“I’ll deal with it,” the voice said, and let go of his hand. 

Valentine opened his eyes, head angled away from both the sight of his head and the toilet, to see what the hell he’d summoned go past in a gust of cold air. Straight brown hair, legs that only hit slightly above the knees before joining with the shadows. Even so, movements were graceful in this form that the demon had chosen.

“How about Gazelle?” he called after the demon.

All he heard in reply was laughter, as breezy as a spring day. 


	6. Chapter 6

“Open the fuck up!” Eggsy shouted, hammering on the door with one hand, holding a cross in the other. Stepping back, he shook his head. “The vibes I’m gettin’ feel like shite, Spencer.” 

James stepped back from trying to peer into the living room window. “It’s definitely blood. Whatever he did, it seemed important, if he were to resort to using it.”

“If it’s blood, it usually ain’t very pretty.” 

Moving in on the door, he was about to knock on more time (or break down the goddamn door, depending), when the door opened to reveal a woman, framed in the darkness. She looked from Eggsy to James to JB, who was growling softly at his owner’s feet, and then back to Eggsy. 

“Valentine’s indisposed of, if you’re looking for him,” the woman said, coolly. “I’ll deal with any problem you might have in the meantime.” 

“I’m sorry,” James cut in, right behind Eggsy. “Who are you, again?”

“He calls me Gazelle.” 

And she lunged. Eggsy barely had time to raise his cross, crashing into James behind him. They staggered, fell in a tangle of limbs, and all the while, he struggled to keep his hands up, struggling to protect them as Gazelle changed. 

The human mind sometimes has the mercy to scab over particularly traumatic events. That hadn’t happened during Lee’s death for Eggsy. So perhaps his mind was making up for it now, for he didn’t remember how Gazelle had changed, only that she was a towering shadow with too many teeth and not enough eyes. 

He could feel James below him, fumbling with his own cross, cursing under his breath, JB wriggling, trapped under one arm. 

The demon rose, stretched, like elastic, and crashed down on them. Only the cross stood between them, an invisible barrier. They needed to get back to the house, Eggsy knew, free hand frantically digging his pockets for something, anything that would protect them. 

Already he was sweating like there was tomorrow, arms trembling. Fingers closed around a packet, pulling out, and he felt a surge of triumph: Salt, beautiful fucking salt. Again, Gazelle crashed down on them, and James hit Eggsy’s shoulder with his free hand. 

“I’ll throw the salt. You just get up and run, got it?” 

“Percival will kill me!”

“Jesus Christ, Unwin, I’m going to be okay!” 

The salt packet was ripped from his grip, and Eggsy couldn’t even try to prevent James from throwing it at Gazelle, so focused in holding up the barrier. The demon laughed, high-pitched, the sound of glass shattering over and over again. 

It was almost in slow-motion, really: The salt arching through the air; Gazelle’s laughter distorting into a screech; the shadows recoiling frantically away, smoke rising from its form.

And then James was yanking Eggsy to his feet, pushing him towards the Morton house, screaming ‘run’ so loudly that it was all he knew for the moment. Scooping JB up, he ran, stumbling, praying that James was behind him, right behind him, praying that Gazelle would be stopped long enough for them to get in the goddamn house. 

\---

While this happened on the streets, Percival was pounding on the windows of the living room, screaming James’s name. 

“Run, goddamn you, run!” he was yelling, voice almost hoarse, full of desperation. “Spencer, run!” 

“Oh god,” Roxy whispered, a few paces behind him, hands pressed to her mouth. 

Harry murmured something inaudible beside her, hand passing through her dog in an absentminded attempt to scratch Madam behind the ears. The siblings had engaged in conversation with him until they’d heard that godawful screech and had come running down to see what was going on. 

Through the window, they could see Eggsy and JB in the lead, legs pumping, already halfway across the street. Several meters behind them was James, and behind James, what they assumed to be the demon itself. 

It was screeching in fury: Even inside the house, they could hear it, and Roxy’s hands slipped from her mouth to cover her ears, shaking her head. This can’t be happening. They’d been through this whole supernatural business so many times, but this was the worst of the lot. This was the stuff of pure nightmare. 

“James!” 

Roxy had never heard her brother scream in such a way. Not when their father told them to get out, not when their mother wept and told them they were going to hell. Never. To see someone so calm and collected fall to pieces was truly terrifying. 

She looked back out the window just in time to see the demon gaining on the men outside. Eggsy had made it to the pavement, and was sprinting up the path to the house. James was almost there, almost, but the demon seemed to stretch, and suddenly he was standing quite still. 

The demon laughed, slowly shrunk back to its original (yet still towering) size. Blood spattered the ground, red against black. The front door opened and slammed shut, the sound of it being locked and bolted. Roxy didn’t care. 

All that mattered at the moment was that the demon was now a young woman, a little older than her, legs trailing off into a mass of shadows. All that mattered at the moment was that her hands were soaking red and there was a streak of blood across her face. And James wasn’t moving. He stood there, unmoving, staring straight at the window, where Percival was. 

The demon smirked, turned, and began her journey back towards Valentine’s house. She was tossing something dark red in her hand, up and down. For a second, no one made a sound in the house, not even Percival. 

And then James pitched forward onto the road, a dark hole visible in his back, red staining his shirt in an ever-growing outward circle. That wasn’t the worst part, Roxy thought, not even when Percival screamed until his voice gave way and he slumped to his knees.

The worst part was when James pushed himself to his feet. Only he wasn’t James, that dead James lying at his own feet. He looked as insubstantial as Harry and when he screamed, it was worse than Percival. 


	7. Intermission III

Gazelle told him what had transpired, once she’d cleaned her hands and bandaged his. At least he didn’t have to witness what she’d gleefully described to him. Valentine sat in the kitchen and watched the demon pace up and down. 

“I’ll let you have whatever you want when I’ve gotten what I want,” he said, and she shrugged. 

“As long as I get it in the end. And no finger-crossing: What I want, I get,” was the reply. 

He couldn’t argue with that. In fact, he’d told her what he’d wanted already: To own that stupid company that hired him, and, from there, change the world. He hadn’t thought that far, just far enough to ensure a seat of a CEO. 

And he wanted those pesky neighbors gone. Gazelle could have free reign of how she disposed of them, as long as he didn’t see and they were gone for good. That seemed to satisfy her for now. 

“I want them gone by tonight, Gazzy.”

She smiled. “Yes, sir.” 


	8. Chapter 8

They had gathered back in the attic, shutting the door, pouring salt at the edge of the entrance. All of them were in various degrees of shakiness, and who could blame them? This was nothing that had gone up against before. 

Eggsy watched Roxy pet Madam, her gaze distant. In the corner, Percival sat on one of the trunks and looked as if all the light had been sucked out from his like by vacuum. Harry wasn’t with them: He’d gone downstairs to deal with the newly-formed ghost of James. 

“I’m sorry.” First words to breach the air, to bring everyone back down to earth. 

The siblings looked at him, as if just awakening from some deep slumber. He took a deep breath, ran his hands through his hair.

“Look, Perce, Rox, ‘m sorry. I couldn’t stop James from tryin’ to stop Gazelle, I couldn’t even help buy more time,” the exorcist said. “’M sorry I failed you.”

Percival looked at him, blinked. His eyes were puffy and red, and when he spoke, his voice could barely rise above a whisper. “James knew what he was doing.”

“Besides,” Roxy added. “We still have him. For now.”

For now. The man –remnant of the man, anyways- was half out of his mind with fear and reluctance to accept that he’d died on that road. 

“I’m, uh, going to check on Harry and James.”

Any reason to get away from Percival’s desolate stare and Roxy’s unfocused gaze. Besides, they couldn’t just leave the body lying on the street like roadkill, could they? 

Once he got out in the street, he discovered that Harry was talking calmly to James, who had collected himself. Skirting around them so as not to interrupt their conversation, he went to James’s body and looked at it. 

The blood was already drying, shirt sticking to the corpse’s back. He gave it a quick once-over. James was, naturally, older than him. He was also taller and heavier than Eggsy. If the man tried to carry the body, his knees would probably buckle or something. 

“Hey, Unwin.” 

The voice came to him as if the wind had carried it. Looking up, Eggsy saw Harry pat James on the back as the new ghost walked towards him. 

"’M sorry, mate.”

“It’s okay. I made my choice. Just didn’t think I’d died that quickly,” James said. His speech pattern had changed slightly: Sentences were shorter, simpler, the shock of sudden death knocking certain linguistics temporarily out of him. 

“We’re going to make sure y’didn’t die in vain.”

James tilted his head. A grin broke out on his face, devilish and cocky. “Good.”

He’d possessed his own body to help Eggsy out. It wasn’t the prettiest sight to see, a man entering his own body, but it did help. They brought it inside, put it in the guest bathroom downstairs so as not to scare anyone, not to set anyone off the edge. 

And then the three of them had gone up to the attic, the exorcist and the two ghosts. The door was closed, but James floated through it like it wasn’t even shit. Eggsy paused outside, turning to look at Harry.

“I can’t repay you for anything of this, y’know,” he pointed out. “’S too big of a thing. But thank you.” 

Harry’s smile was fond, and Eggsy couldn’t look away. It was a nice smile, shouldn’t have been plastered on the face of a dead man. But Harry had been alive once.

“You’re utmost welcome. Although I daresay you might want to hold on to your gratitude until after our entire problem has been decimated, no?”

Eggsy shook his head, one hand raising to rub the back of his neck. His eyes met the ghost’s, and he smiled, briefly.

“Guess so. But just in case I die before I can say it.”

“You could always thank me as a ghost.”

And, even with the grim gravity of the situation, Eggsy laughed. 

\---

James sat rather awkwardly besides Percival, trying not to float off, not daring to touch his boyfriend. Dying had not been pleasant. This silence was worse. And to top matters off, Roxy kept looking at him then looking away, like she couldn’t really believe he was dead.

Hell, he didn’t believe it himself.

Everything seemed so distant, as if he was the only substantial thing in the world, when the truth was the exact opposite. He wondered how Harry had taken it. The older ghost had soothed him, had said that as soon as it was over, James would probably be free to cross over.

Problem: James didn’t want to cross over. He wanted to stay here. Unfortunately, this wasn’t his world anymore. 

Gently, he put his hand on Percival’s, watching as it fell right through. The other shuddered, head snapping up, looking right at him. 

“Everything will be okay,” James said, and Percival’s hand tightened, as if trying to squeeze his as hard as he possibly could.

“Don’t leave me.” 

It was a plaintive plea, one James had never heard him use. Yet here they were, a dead man and one with a broken heart, staring wide-eyed at each other and trying to comprehend how life could change so fast. 

“I won’t.” His hand moving up to trace Percival’s jaw, just passing through living flesh again and again. “I won’t, I promise.”

The door opened, Eggsy and Harry walking in, the exorcist careful not to disturb the line of salt they’d laid out. The younger man had been smiling, but it had faded when he’d entered the room, like he’d just remembered what he was in charge of. 

Roxy stood, went to him, and just hugged him, arms wrapped tightly around him. James wondered if she wished she was dead. Probably not: She’d always been a fighter, and despair only got the better of her momentarily. She’d pick herself back up. 

“We’re going to fix this, Rox,” Eggsy said, hugging her back. “We’re going to finish this.”

“How?” A child-like voice: How do you fix a mess this big?

“We need to get back into the house, get Gazelle into a contained environment. An’ I need to do an exorcism. A big one. Might cost me everythin’.” 

No one objected. No one could: He was the trained one here, and not them. They could only help ward Valentine off and buy him time to finish the rites. James had given up his body, he didn’t mind giving up everything else. Just to make sure that these three made it out alive in the end. 

Here was the plan, Eggsy explained, carefully. They’d somehow get into Valentine’s house. Salt every available exit, and if they couldn’t do it fast enough, merely toss salt everywhere and hope for the best. Percival and Roxy would help take down Valentine with Madam and JB. Eggsy would trap Gazelle with James and Harry. The exorcism would take time, since she was a horridly powerful being. And in the end, hopefully, Eggsy would still be breathing. There simply wasn’t room enough for a third ghost. 

It was a good plan. Okay, well, not the best they had, but it was something. The only problem was getting to the house fast enough without being killed on the way there: None of them had a car or a vehicle of some sort. 

“Oh, we’ll find a way,” Roxy said, sounding almost like her old self. “We always do.”


	9. Chapter 9

It would have been that easy if Gazelle hadn’t started banging on their front door. It must have hurt, as they had hung the biggest cross Eggsy had above the doorframe, but the demon kept trying to make it fall just to enter.

Valentine sure wanted them dead. 

The occupants of the house tried to move as quietly as they could, ignoring Gazelle’s taunts and shrieks: There was still the backdoor for a reason. This new plan to get them to complete the original plan was for Harry to distract her long enough for the rest of them to make it across the road.

Eggsy hoped Gazelle wouldn’t rip the ghost apart: When he looked at Harry, his heart beat a little faster, his words a little more jumbled up. But it was a nice kind of feeling.

Armed with as much salt as they could carry (three small bags), they made it to the back door and opened it, silently. Already Harry’s voice, conversing with Gazelle, could be heard in the front. Eggsy moved first, then Percival, followed by Roxy and the dogs, with James bringing up in the rear. 

They crept round the side of the house, grass rustling under their feet. Sounds of battle came from the front that Eggsy didn’t want to think about. Harry’s going to be alright. He was dead already.

But demons could always hurt ghosts. 

Pushing that thought out of his mind, he led his group along the hedge. As they got nearer to the front of the house, Eggsy could see Gazelle’s shadow, could hear Harry’s voice a little clearer. Good Lord, the man could swear. 

Reaching the edge, just where the house ended, he poked his head round, signaling for the others to hold up. Gazelle was trying to rip Harry apart, but evidently was failing, due to his dodging and rolling here and there. Giving a frustrated hiss, she brought down one sharp talon of a hand. She would have impaled him had not he rolled to the left at the last second. 

He was going to be okay, he tried to assure himself. Harry would be alright. 

Eggsy glanced over his shoulder at the others. Despite how shaken and pale they looked, all had that glint of determination in their eyes. They wouldn’t back down now. Too much had been lost for them to just up and run. 

“Follow my lead.” 

He ran, head ducked, as close to the hedge as possible, out from the cover of the house, praying that Gazelle was too preoccupied with Harry to possibly notice. They were just reaching the pavement when she caught wind of them. 

“Oh, so that’s how we play it, is it?” she called, retracting from her attack on Harry, changing course straight for them. “I can play dirty, too.”

They couldn’t waste any salt, as precious as it was. Eggsy held up his cross, and when Gazelle smashed against the invisible barrier, he almost fell with the sheer force of the blow.

The others held up theirs, attempting to add to the barrier. Behind Gazelle, Harry was running straight at her, and James followed suit. They crashed into Gazelle, and she stumbled backwards, shadow arms flailing, trying to tear them to pieces.

“Eggsy, run!” Harry shouted, but Eggsy could barely hear him over the sound of a car engine. 

Scrambling to his feet, he turned to be blinded by headlights, before Roxy grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the vehicle. The ghosts had their duties, and the living had theirs. 

Somehow, he found himself in the passenger seat of the car, the others behind him. The doors locked, and he swallowed, hard, looking at the driver.

Merlin pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’ve been watching this ruckus all night and it was about time I stepped in.”

“Drive to that house,” Percival said, leaning over and pointing straight at Valentine’s. “Fast as you can, we need to get in.”

“Alright. I never liked the color of this car anyways.” 

Merlin rammed the accelerator. 

The engine roared, the sound of a mighty beast, swinging around to face Valentine’s domain before hurtling forward. Eggsy braced himself for impact, hurriedly buckling up. He really hoped Merlin’s car had airbags. The last thing he wanted to do was find that he, too, had become a ghost.

Because none of them would stand a chance against Gazelle and Valentine like that. 

Tires screeched, crunching gravel beneath rubber tracks, the dogs barking up a storm in the backseat. Above the ruckus, the exorcist could hear Gazelle’s incessant screaming, hear James and Harry shout orders at each other, tag-teaming up on the demon. 

This has to work, he thought, as the house came closer and closer. Please, just let it work. 

“Hold on!” Merlin yelled, from somewhere to his right, voice suddenly louder than normal. “Hold o-“

The noise was terrific. If Eggsy had been asked to describe how Pompeii might have sounded like or felt while being destroyed, his answer would probably have been the sound of Merlin’s car crashing through Valentine’s lovely little home. 

Whump! The airbags blew up in the exorcist’s face, filling the front seat. The engine had cut off almost immediately after the crash, and now all that could be heard was the heavy breathing coming from the occupants of the car. 

“Is everyone alright?” Percival asked from the backseat, voice muffled. 

A small chorus of affirmatives followed. 

Eggsy opened his eyes as the airbags slowly deflate, trying to regulate his breathing: He hadn’t known he’d practically been gasping for breath on impact. It was dark in the car. The engine had been cut off, but through the shattered windscreen, he could see the living room. 

It looked like a hurricane had swept through Valentine’s house. The books were scattered across the room, pages fluttering in the gentle breeze. And there was a summoning circle: Dark red that couldn’t possibly have been paint, ringed by candles that had been blown out rather abruptly. 

What the hell have you done, mate? 

Tearing his gaze away, he looked at the others to see if they were all alright. Merlin’s glasses were crooked, the dogs were staring up at Eggsy with large eyes, Roxy looked like she’d run twenty miles, and Percival’s lips were bleeding where he’d bitten them. Other than that, everything seemed as fine as it could get. 

“Ready?” Eggsy asked. James and Harry could only buy them so much time. And it was only a matter of minutes, maybe, before Valentine came to fuck them up. 

Three heads nodded at him. 

“Alright, let’s move!”

They moved into action, jumping out of the car, the bags of salt being ripped open, poured into waiting palms. Work was done quickly: Every available exit had to be secured. The last thing they needed was Gazelle to escape, because finding where would be, well, hell. 

The Morton siblings had decided to take the back door, Merlin heading upstairs to get the windows with the dogs. Only Eggsy remained in the front bit of the house, salting the hole they’d created. He gingerly side-stepped the summoning circle when he was done, keeping a look-out for any sign of the ghosts or the demon herself. 

Down the hall he went. Or at least halfway before pausing. Something felt off. Muscles tensing, Eggsy stood perfectly still, eyes trained on the front door, cross digging into the palm of his hand. Listening.

It was quiet. Too quiet. He could hear the others spreading salt everywhere in other parts of the house, but what worried him was the lack of noise from outside: Where the bigger threat was supposed to be until they got ready- which they clearly weren’t. 

Keeping moving, Unwin, Eggsy told himself, forcing his legs into motion. He shouldn’t be wasting precious seconds, despite how reckless it may have been. One step closer, two steps closer. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. 

Almost there. Just a few more ste-

Gazelle burst in through the front door, a screeching mess that hurt Eggsy’s eyes when he tried to look at her directly. She dove directly for him, and the exorcist took a step back, involuntarily, unable to move to defend himself. 

Oh, God, he thought, his sudden scream drowning out the yells of the Morton siblings, who had heard the ruckus.

And then he was pushed, right before she hit him, right before those gnashing teeth tore him from limb to limb. Flying backwards, he hit the bottom of the stairs just as Gazelle drove her claws into the spot he’d been standing at only moments before. Wood splinters flew in the air as the demon screeched, enraged at being cheated. All the while, Eggsy was frantically trying to get up. But his body wasn’t responding to his commands, ignoring him completely, because when he wanted to scramble rapidly up the stairs, he had decided to stand and face Gazelle.

It was like he was watching his body move from behind his eyes, only he wasn’t in control at all. Everything felt cold here. But it would be okay. Hopefully. 

“Do you trust me?” Harry’s voice reached him from a great distance, and he knew that the ghost had possessed him to save him.

The answer was always the same, always. 

“Yes.”


	10. Intermission IV

Valentine had absolutely no time for this bullshit. First, he’d heard the sound of something huge crashing into his nice house. Next, he’d tried to unwrap his bandages, only to throw up at the blood marking the cloth. Now, this fellow was looming over him just outside the bathroom, a big bald man with glasses, flanked by two mutts.

“Who the fuck are y-“ was as far as he could get before said man punched him as hard as he could. 

“You’re probably going to prison for murder,” the man said, as if he couldn’t care less.

“Who did I murder? I hate violence. It’s a waste of good time.”

“Me.” Another man stepped up, and Valentine knew a ghost when he saw one. Oh, the Morton boy’s boyfriend. James, wasn’t it? 

“Gazzy did that,” he tried to justify. Hell, it was true. Valentine wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

“Gazelle’s going back to hell. And you’re stuck with us.”

He thought about it for a moment. “Oh, shit.”

And then the living man punched him again, and Valentine blacked out. 


	11. Chapter 11

Eggsy had to admit that Harry was doing a good job of avoiding those claws of Gazelle’s. He watched himself run towards the kitchen, just as the demon wrenched her claws free from the floor, taking a moment to gain her bearings. 

Roxy and Percival were standing in the kitchen, salt bags on the counter, kitchen knives gripped with white knuckles. When they saw him, relief flashed across their faces. Not so much when they saw what was coming up behind him. 

“Get out!” he shouted in Harry’s voice, gesturing to the back door with his chin. “I’ll handle it!”

“Harry?” Percival frowned, about to say more, but his sister was already pulling him towards the back door, abandoning their things. 

The exorcist saw himself follow the siblings, screen door banging shut behind him right before Gazelle could snatch him up. The demon stopped just at the salt line, before rushing away from the door, seeking another exit.

The exorcist hoped that she wouldn’t try to go upstairs: That’s where Merlin and the rest were. James had already died, and he wouldn’t stand there being another casualty. 

“What do we do know?” Roxy called, as he raced past them, round to the front of the house. 

“Stay outside,” Eggsy said, suddenly aware of being in control. “I’ll talk care of it, promise.” 

“Be careful, Unwin,” Percival shouted after him.

He didn’t reply, already quite rounding the corner to get to the front yard. He could feel Harry hovering by the corners of his mind, ready to aid should Gazelle’s attacks get the better of him. Reaching the gaping whole that Merlin’s car had made, Eggsy stood at the threshold, breathing hard. His cross was tightly in his grip, but somewhere along the way, he’d lost hold of the bag of salt. 

Never mind that. All that mattered right now was sending the demon back to where she truly belonged. 

“Are you ready, Eggsy?” Harry breathed into his ear. 

“Damn straight,” the exorcist muttered, before cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting. “Hey, Gazelle. Get down so we can finish this quick.” 

He was going to make Lee Unwin proud. 

\---

Gazelle was furious. The Unwin boy and his friends were already racing off, leaving her trapped in the house. Now she had to go find Valentine and get him to remove the salt for her and-

She had drifted halfway across the kitchen when she’d stopped, remembering the front door. Rushing out into the hallway, the demon was quite pleased to see that she’d successfully diverted the exorcist from salting the front door. She even could hear him hollering for her from the right side of the house: He seemed to have forgotten that the most likeliest of entrances would ensure his rather messy death. 

But there were quiet voices from upstairs, carrying all the way down to her heightened senses. One of the ghosts was there. And where’s the other? She thought the old man had possessed the boy, seeing him fly through the air without her so much as being near him. But he wouldn’t do something as reckless as shouting for her, would he? Unless you’re very desperate.

Grinning with a mouth that seemed to have too many teeth, Gazelle would have shaken her head, had she been in her human façade. 

Humans, she thought, diving straight for the door in a whirl of shadows, they never learn, do they? 

\---

The front door! Eggsy thought, abruptly, still standing in front of the hole. For a moment, he thought his heart would stop: He’d left the fucking front door unsalted, free for Gazelle just to waltz out and rip his insides out from behind. 

But just as he heard the front door slam open, he heard the demon scream in pain. His head whipped around to see Roxy and Percival standing at the front door, holding up their crosses for dear life. They were bracing themselves as Gazelle threw herself again and again at the invisible barrier, clearly enraged. 

Roxy made eye contact with him. “Do what you have to do!” 

He nodded, firmly, before stepping over the threshold and back into the living room, squeezing past the car to get to the summoning circle. Standing in front of it, he called the demon again, hoping to draw attention away from his friends. 

“C’mon, Gazelle,” Eggsy growled. “’S just you an’ me now.” 

“You don’t know how many priests I’ve killed before, do you, boy?” Gazelle said, flowing into the living room, already mid-way through her transformation into her human form. “I can’t even count them on all ten fingers.” 

He looked at her and smiled, quite genuinely. “Lucky for you, ‘m not a priest. Not even close.”

“Then you’ll die just the same.”

She’d finished her transformation, but came at him with equal ferocity, nails lengthening into claw-like appendages. And he threw himself backwards, over the hood of the car, landing on his backside near the passenger’s door. His mouth moved, he heard himself speak in Latin: The exorcism had begun. 

Gazelle screamed, hands wavering between clamping over her ears and slitting Eggsy’s throat there and then. Harry pulled him into a roll, forcing him under the car just as the demon tried to skewer him. Under the car, out the other side, glass crunching beneath him. The exorcist let Harry control his movements, mind focused on what he was saying, what he was meaning to do. 

The demon flung itself in his direction, mouth widening to reveal too many teeth in an all-too human mouth, but Eggsy held up his cross above him, still on his back. His breathing was shallow, each word coming out in a pant.

And when he was about halfway through, when Gazelle had battered against the barrier repeatedly and his arms were trembling, even with Harry’s desperate attempts to help him, something miraculous happened: She drew back, a tad fearfully. 

“It’s working,” Harry said, quietly, and Eggsy would have grinned, had he been in charge of his facial muscles. Instead, he quickened the pace of his incantation, forcing every word out, lungs aching. 

Gazelle stopped trying to tear him apart. Instead, she was searching for an exit, screaming in a long dead language, clawing pathetically at her face in agony. Her human form had dissipated, leaving a writhing mass of shadows and eyes and teeth in its place. The screaming hurt Eggsy’s ears, and he could feel blood starting to flow freely from his nose. 

But he didn’t –couldn’t- relent, the ghost encouraging him . So when he came to the last few verses, putting his heart and soul into it, he was on his feet, holding the cross over the demon. Gazelle was on the floor, gouging claw marks into the wood, screeching for all she was worth. 

She looked up at him, during the very last verse. And Eggsy had never felt such hatred in his life before. It was as if a small part of him had shriveled up and died there and then. 

“Go to hell,” he said, finishing the exorcism rites in one breath.

And Gazelle gave a scream that shattered every window and mirror in Valentine’s house. He threw his arms over his head to protect himself, ducking his head as glass rained down. He almost expected her to attack, when he dropped his arms to his sides. 

Yet everything was quiet. Eggsy fell to his knees, then to his hands and knees, letting the cross clatter to the ground. He was breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face. The taste of blood was in his mouth, but he made no move to spit, exhausted as he was. He couldn’t even raise his head, not even when he saw a pair of shoes in front of him. 

“Good job, Eggsy,” Harry congratulated, bending down so that they were on level. “You saved the world. Or, this part of it, anyways. But a job well done, nonetheless.” 

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything. Just swallowed, bobbed his head to show he acknowledged the fact. 

“I’m very proud of you.” 

Eggsy spat a mouthful of blood, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before answering. “Cheers. That really means a lot, you being proud of me an’ all. I mean… I’ve always wanted that from…”

From someone I met twice, someone who’s dead, someone who suddenly means a great deal to me and- 

But he couldn’t tell Harry that, could he? The ghost would laugh at him, maybe. And Eggsy wouldn’t forgive himself if that happened. 

“Eggsy,” Harry said, his tone suddenly gentle. “I need to go.”

What?

The ghost smiled, sadly, at him, before drifting off. It took the exorcist a moment to react, pushing himself to stand even with his muscles shrieking at him. Running out of the house, he ignored everything and everyone else, shouting Harry’s name. The ghost was wasn’t even walking: He was hovering off the ground, floating to the middle of the street.

“What d’you mean you have to go?” Eggsy asked, catching up with Harry, bending over to catch his breath. “You can’t leave me. I… You’re my friend, you’re more than that, you can’t just walk out on me, Harry.”

It was selfish, and he knew it. Despised himself for being so needy, for holding Harry back. But he needed this. For once in his life, Eggsy wanted to be fucking selfish, consequences be damned. 

Harry turned to look at him, as he straightened and shook his head, denying it. “I’ve accomplished a purpose. I think that means I can leave. I can rest.” 

“So was that all I was?” the younger man demanded. “Jus’ a purpose? Jus’ for you to get to the other side?” 

He was ready to get angry, now. It was better than feeling despair, hopelessness. Just when he got what he thought he’d never have, it was being taken from him. Like the wind carrying leaves further and further away from a tree. 

Behind him, he could hear voices, namely Percival and James. They seemed to be having the same argument as them, although more intimately. Least it’s not just us then.

But then Harry placed both hands on his shoulder. Looked Eggsy square in the eye. “I didn’t want to cross over because my life wasn’t fulfilled. And now, well, it is.”

“In what way is that, then?” Eggsy asked, voice tiny. “You can’t jus’ up an’… an’ leave me…”

Without waiting for a reply, the exorcist raised his hand to touch Harry’s face, to try and trace the outline of his jaw. He flinched when his hand passed right through. Gaze averted from the ghost, staring at the road.

It’s not fair. 

“Eggsy,” Harry said, gently, when the younger man let his hand drop back to his side. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I’ve never been able to protect someone twice without fucking it up.”

The exorcist said nothing, slowly lifting his gaze to the dead man’s. Hope, a tattered flag still fluttering in his chest. 

“I’ve never been able to help someone I love.”

Harry stopped there, as if waiting for a mocking laugh, a sharp rebuke. But Eggsy was now staring with wide, desperate eyes. He wanted to clutch the older man’s shoulders, shake him, shout ‘are you pissing on me’. But he didn’t. 

“If you love me, don’t go,” were his words instead.

“You and I both know that it’s only right.” 

It was true, Eggsy knew, biting his lip. Harry had spent too much time here in the land of the living. He had to cross over. 

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Harry told him, taking a step back, eyes flicking to something over Eggsy’s shoulder.

“You promise?” the younger man asked, willing his voice not to waver. 

“Cross my heart and hope to, well, die again.” 

“Are you two finished?” came Roxy’s voice, and Eggsy turned to see her standing there with the others: The dogs, Merlin, Percival and James. Everyone looked no worse for wear, just extremely world weary. 

“There are other people who’d like to go home, Unwin,” James said, jokingly. 

Eggsy laughed, falling back to stand beside Roxy. Percival’s boyfriend moved to stand next to Harry, the two surveying the living. For a while, neither parties spoke. The faint sound of sirens could be heard, probably coming in their direction: With all the ruckus, surely someone had called the police. 

James winked at them, causing Percival to make a noise that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Harry merely smiled. Eggsy felt like his heart was going to break, watching the two dead men. 

And they turned away from the group, walking, already fading in mid-step. Gone by the time their feet were supposed to have touched the ground. 

The exorcist released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. A little bark from his feet, and he tore his gaze away from the spot the ghosts had vanished, looking down at JB. The pug wagged his tail, happily, as Eggsy scooped him up and held him to his chest. 

“I suggest,” Merlin spoke. “We leave before the police arrive. Valentine’s still unconscious and he’s their problem now. Not ours.”

“James’s body is in our bathroom,” Percival muttered. 

“I think I’m going to have a drink,” Roxy said. “Or twenty.”


	12. Epilogue

The funeral for one James Spencer was held about a week later. 

A lot of things had happened, in the aftermath of the entire case: Valentine was hauled to jail, charged with murder and fraud, the Morton siblings and Eggsy had become fast friends with Merlin, and Eggsy still hadn’t gotten over the fact that Harry, well, loved him back. 

“Y’know,” Eggsy said, once everyone had left, and it was only the four of them at the grave. “Even with Valentine in jail, things like these are always goin’ to happen.”

“I know,” Roxy said, and patted his shoulder. “That’s what you’re there for.”

“Oi!” 

He swatted her, and she laughed. Percival shook his head, and Merlin smiled. 

They were the living. They had faced their biggest fears and they had fought the very personification of evil. 

All in all, Eggsy thought, putting an arm around Roxy’s shoulder, as they stood there and said their last goodbyes. All in all, it was a good day to be alive. 


End file.
